Page 5 of Vicious Savage

It was always going to come to this.

We have the girl in our sights, which means we have Castillo right where we want him. Or do we? What do we do with a girl weknowwe won’t hurt?

“Remind me againwhywe’re going for the daughter, not one of his sons,” Attila shoots. He’s been irritated as all fuck since we got to Arizona, even though we’ve been getting along fine. He mustreallyhate this place.

I sigh in exasperation. Attila has never had to go smoking anyone out, so I grant him that this is new to him. But he really needs to understand how this cartel works. And he needs patience, something I now know he has very little of.

“They’re not exactly hiding in plain sight,” I tell him.

“Oh, but the daughter is? You don’t find that just a little bit odd?”

“Not necessarily. The cartels are notorious for treating women as expendables. I doubt they’re keeping tabs on her.”

“Probably think she’s safer here, away from them,” he comments.

“Not a bad idea, hiding her out in plain sight. Who would ever suspect?”

“So you think she’s going to turn up here tonight?”

“She works here,” I tell him. “No reason for her not to turn up.”

“We’re going to spook her.”

“She look spooked to you when she turned up on our doorstep?”

Attila quirks an eyebrow at this then exits the car and stretches. I follow and go to stand beside him in the parking lot and look at the bar we’ve come to.

“I wonder what the hell Coyin Castillo’s daughter is doing working in a place like this,” he mutters, as he starts to walk toward the entry.

The sun dips below the horizon, casting a vibrant orange glow in the distance as we approach the bar. We step into the dimly lit entrance, the promise of intrigue and excitement lingering in the air. Located on the outskirts of the city, the venue is surprisingly alive with the swell of patrons seeking refuge from the rush of the city.

The heavy wooden door creaks open, and a rush of warm air infuses with the scent of aged whiskey and laughter. The sounds of lively chatter and clinking glasses envelope me, carrying against a backdrop of smooth jazz melodies that swirl through the room. A sultry saxophone weaves a seductive melody, while the rhythmic beat of drums sets the pace for the evening.

The bar itself is a masterpiece of craftsmanship, its polished mahogany surface reflecting the soft glow of neon signs that adorn the walls. The exterior of the building doesn’t give any indication of the caliber of the interior, the difference between the two a stark revelation in chaos. The only casual thing about the bar is the bartenders dressed in white t-shirts and black pants, moving with practiced precision as they expertly mix cocktails. The clinking of ice cubes against glass sounds like the tinkling of bells as we move further through the dense cacophony of human bodies towards the bar.

My eyes adjust to the low lighting, the room coming into focus. The crowd is a vibrant tapestry of diverse characters, each with their own story to tell. A group of friends huddle around a high table, their laughter infectious and carefree. A couple, lost in each other's gaze, share a private moment at a cozy corner booth.

The patrons themselves are a kaleidoscope of personalities. The weary businessman, seeking solace from the pressures of the day, sips his martini with a sense of quiet contemplation. A vivacious artist, adorned in colorful attire, dances to the rhythm of her own inner muse. A mysterious stranger, clad in a leather jacket, observes the room with an air of intrigue.

The energy in the bar is intense, a bright spark as the night unfolds. Laughter echoes off the walls as conversations grow louder, animated gestures punctuating the air. The vibrant atmosphere creates a sanctuary where time seems to stand still, as the music swells and the spirit of the bar thrives.

At the far end of the bar, a lone figure perches on a barstool, engrossed in conversation with the bartender we’ve come for. Coyin’s daughter moves with a lethal grace as she throws orders at the other bartenders and fluidly sets down drinks at the same time. We watch from across the room as she gets back to her conversation with the woman at the end of the bar, then leaves again to serve another customer. It’s obvious she’s the head bartender, and she does it so well, her team moving together like a well oiled machine.

I look at Attila, whose eyes are fixed on the girl. He’s watching her intently, as though afraid that if he blinks, she’ll disappear again. I know this time he’s going to do everything he possibly can not to lose sight of her.

“Let’s sit here,” I suggest, parking myself in a nearby table. It’s close enough that we can see the bar but far enough that the girl probably won’t even notice us. We order our drinks with a passing waitress then settle in and look around the bustling bar. From the outside, I wouldn’t have picked that it would be humming with so much energy.

“Careful,” Attila warns, as our drinks arrive and I chug back my tequila. “I don’t want to have to babysit your drunk ass tonight.”

I shrug and shoot him a smirk. “I only ever indulge myself with one drink,” I tell him. I stopped the hardcore drinking after I realized Sisely wasn’t coming back and I wasn’t doing myself any favors drinking myself into an early grave. Even though I wanted nothing more than to join my dead wife.

“What time does her shift finish?” he asks me.

“Midnight. Dumbest thing ever, but she’s a creature of habit.”

“I still don’t understand what she’s doing in this dive.”

“Well, you can ask her yourself when you finally get a formal introduction.”

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